


Vergessener Held

by Monika-s Moniker (Dan_Francisco)



Series: The Sleepwalkers [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - World War I, Drama, Gen, Horrors of War, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), promptfill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_Francisco/pseuds/Monika-s%20Moniker
Summary: Captain Marianne von Edmund, a medical officer in the German Army, is ordered to investigate a medical mystery alongside her aide. The pair set out immediately to investigate before the coming storm envelops the lines.
Series: The Sleepwalkers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861168
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: /r/FanFiction Prompt Challenge #20 / August 2020, Fanworks Club Monthly Prompts





	Vergessener Held

**Author's Note:**

> Promptfill for r/fanfiction and the Fanworks Club discord! From r/ff I chose Winter, while this fills the Alternate Universe prompt from the Fanworks Club discord.

_November 20 th, 1915_

_Approximately 20km south of Varsava, Russia_

_1132 hours_

The biting cold chill of winter affected Marianne von Edmund even as she stood within the thick concrete walls of the medical bunker. Conditions along the front had become gloomy, even with the most enthusiastic of soldiers slipping into a mood of melancholy that settled into the deepest parts of a heart and soul. All Marianne could do, aside from tending to wounded men and keeping up with the battalion’s general health, was pray to God and hope that He heard her prayers. Right now, though, the cold affected them all, even Marianne’s beloved steed, Dorte, who shivered in his stable even now. She should visit, make sure that the soldiers manning the stable just behind the medical trench were taking good care of him. However, the endless paperwork in front of her demanded Marianne’s attention. Her desk was cold, almost as frigid as the outside world and inhospitable to escaping the war that had consumed her life now. She saw the paperwork as a benefit, and not a burden like Claude and Lysithea considered it to be. Out of everyone in their class, Marianne could only remember Lorenz looking upon staff work as befitting of his stature.

Settling into the paperwork proved to be a fine distraction. She wrote reports on the battalion’s medical supply usage, ammunition expenditure while in combat with the Russians, and general retellings of the day’s events through the indifferent, passive eyes of an observer who cared only about military gains and defeats. Anything beyond that was improper and not fit for a military report. Increasingly, Marianne couldn’t help but wonder about the students from the Blue Lions class from Garreg Mach, debating whether any of them were across the no-man’s land commanding the soldiers that her men were desperately trying to kill right now. The cold prevented them from engaging with artillery, as the artillerymen were afflicted with frostbite – another note that went into her report devoid of any commentary – so for now, scouting patrols and outposts were the only defense they had against a potential Russian attack.

Her mind wandered, and before long her thoughts turned back to Garreg Mach and the world she had once occupied, where the plastic soldiers and markers on the wargame boards they took command over were just that – games, pretend scenarios against neutral, inoffensive enemies and not the very real lives of real people and the stakes of entire countries and homes at play. Was Sylvain, the perpetual flirt that used his fluency in French to enamor nearly every woman he came across, in charge of the freezing men that occupied the trenches a kilometer away? Or did Felix exert control over the situation, preparing his machine guns for a potential attack? Or, perhaps her greatest fear of all, now-Tsar Dimitri himself commanded the men in Poland, using everything he had learned at Garreg Mach to defeat her little company in detail, bringing up sappers and infiltrators to wreak havoc in the dead of a winter’s night.

“Excuse me, Captain von Edmund,” her aide, Sergeant Lucas Neuhaeusser, knocked on the door to her office as he entered. His _feldmützen_ , gone from his head, was folded smartly and in his belt, leaving his head bare except his short haircut as he saluted. Marianne returned his salute, putting her pen down in order to hear him out. “Colonel Hannawald has requested your presence, ma’am. He says it’s urgent.”

She sighed, sliding her chair back. “I suppose this will have to be finished later… thank you, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Neuhaeusser gave her a half-smile, nodding. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Shall I attend to Dorte and Judd? The Colonel seemed rather anxious.”

“No, thank you, Sergeant,” Marianne replied, smiling. He always had a soft spot for the horses, just like she did. It was part of why she had picked him to be his aide anyway, and his love for his horse, Judd, was almost as great as the love he had for his wife – or so the sergeant claimed. Marianne had never met his wife, Charlotte, despite many evenings away from the front on leave in Berlin and the fact that they even lived in the same neighborhood. She had just never much thought to take the time – her military life and life in Berlin were essentially two separate, entirely different things. There was never time for visiting sergeants and their wives, she told herself.

Slipping on her heavy winter trenchcoat just felt like an exercise in futility, especially once the frozen wind that howled across the front slammed into her and froze Marianne’s cheeks the second she left the medical administration bunker. Deep snow covered the parapets, creating an even higher obstacle for enemy reconnaissance efforts to overcome, but it also chilled the soldiers and everything it touched. Thick gloves prevented frostbite, but zealous sergeants hated how it made shooting Russians difficult, so many men were ordered to discard them for lighter gloves which could cause frostbite. Likewise, many men preferred to keep beards for warmth as some sort of escape from the bitter cold, but leaving facial hair unkempt prevented effective gas protection measures from being undertaken. Exposure could potentially kill a man before dawn on the coldest of nights. And, of course, the cold only made cases of trenchfoot even more prevalent and doubly difficult to treat.

Today, the soldiers were few and far between. They must have been ordered to their barracks, Marianne concluded, no doubt sent inside due to how quiet the front had been as of late. Those who were unlucky enough to stand watch out along the frozen front did so with all the fatigue that such a toll demanded. At least one soldier she passed was most definitely asleep at his post, and another tried to salute her but yawned halfway through. Marianne ignored it and returned the salute anyway, not wanting to inconvenience a man just trying to do his job. Just down the next step in the trench was the company command post, where Colonel Hannawald was, perpetually huddled next to his wireless set. Sometimes Marianne wondered if he ever listened to anything other than the perpetual crackle and formless static of the wireless. The Colonel’s staff allowed her in, where she noticed rather conspicuously only his direct aide, a sergeant she didn’t know the name of, was their only company today.

“Colonel,” Marianne said, after habitually clearing her throat. “I… I was told you required my presence?”

“Yes, Captain, thank you for coming,” he said, somehow drawing himself away from the radio. He was an older man, with hard-set lines in his face that reminded her of the time Byleth’s father, Jeralt, had come to visit her at Garreg Mach. It had been so long since she had even _thought_ of her former professor. Her mind wandered again, wondering where Byleth had managed to end up and whether she was safe or not. Perhaps she was still in the United States, exploring Montana’s peaks like Marianne had heard her talk about so much. In a blink, the visions of Byleth climbing Montana’s eponymous mountains were gone, replaced by the hard-set eyes of the Colonel. “The medical team from the 372nd Battalion is requesting your assistance.”

Marianne blinked, taken aback by the request as her eyebrows jumped up. “M-me? But why? What’s happened?”

“I don’t know. There’s a soldier that was found in the Weichsel river, dead. At least, he _was_ until he woke up, so I would like you and your aide to head to our neighboring battalion and investigate what’s going on.”

“I… don’t think I understand, sir,” Marianne said. “Why is this being assigned to me?”

“Because I would very much like to know why on God’s green Earth soldiers can fall into rivers, be stone cold when they arrive at the battalion camp, and then suddenly start talking as if nothing’s gone wrong,” the Colonel snapped, clenching his jaw. “Here is your map, I’ve marked it with where you need to go. Ride out at once, the cold is expected to get worse, and if the Russians attack I _will_ need you and your pet sergeant back here.”

Marianne swallowed hard, flinching at the casual disregard her superior had for Sergeant Neuhaeusser. She knew he was… well, perhaps less _kind_ was the appropriate word, when dealing with the enlisted ranks. A part of Marianne hoped that he would recognize Sergeant Neuhaeusser, if only because he was often part of their meetings and he had even spotted the two men having cordial, if stilted, conversations with one another. Either way, she nodded, taking the map and keeping it folded. She’d have to put this in her map case when they set off. “Very well,” she said, sighing. “The journey is very long, sir, so… I’m sorry, but I may be gone for quite some time.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, waving her off as he returned to his wireless. “Lieutenant Veiel will take over your duties until you return. Again, ride _immediately._ I need you back _here_ as soon as possible.” 

She nodded, performing a perfect about-face to head out into the cold once more. There was a little bit more activity now, with the telltale signs of somebody preparing food somewhere deeper down in the trench – probably the field kitchen at work – and a rather vigorous cadence being called by a sergeant trying to warm his squad up. How the men could conduct any exercises at all in this weather was well beyond Marianne, but as long as they didn’t injure or overexert themselves, they were… well, _fine_ wasn’t exactly the word she wanted to use, but perhaps… alright. Maybe on her way back to collect her kit, and find Sergeant Neuhaeusser to set out for the stables, she could avoid running into any enlisted men. Not because Marianne particularly disliked them like Colonel Hannawald, but more because she disliked having to salute each and every soldier she came across. Most times, she just hid her rank insignia, preferring to let new soldiers think she was a medic, or nurse, rather than inconvenience them by having to moderate their actions around her.

Little luck today, apparently. She happened upon the exercising squad, which prompted the sergeant – a certain Steinhäuser – who recognized her to immediately cease their exercise, stopping in place to salute her as she passed by. Marianne remembered talking to Steinhäuser before. He came from Bavaria, or somewhere close to there, and he was one of the first of many sergeants she had rejected to take on as her aide. He was a loud, boisterous man that hated shaving and hated Russians even more, but even more egregious than that was his horrendous horsemanship skills, of which he had absolutely none. She did not like to judge, but Marianne could not comprehend having a soldier on her staff who disrespected the horses they rode on. The horses were fearful of men like Sergeant Steinhäuser. 

Eventually, she made it back to her quarters, gathering her personal kit for the day’s travel. Her map case would have to be worn over her coat, along with her bread bag, canteen, and rucksack carrying half a shelter flap and the equipment to set it up. Fresh, clean socks, shoe polish, and of course the prerequisite pouches for ammunition. Couldn’t possibly forget that. Back at Garreg Mach, they had never ridden with this much equipment, much less a _rifle_ unless it was made of wood. At war, though, Marianne found herself overburdened with far too much equipment and a vast collection of items of uncertain value. 

“Excuse me, Captain?” Sergeant Neuhaeusser had appeared, nervous anxiety in his eyes as he looked over Marianne preparing her kit. “Is… something the matter?” Marianne shook her head, silently counting off the ammunition in her pouches. That should be enough. “We need to head to the 372nd Battalion. There’s… an incident, and my presence has been requested.” 

“I see,” the sergeant said, nodding. “Shall I ensure Dorte is ready to ride, ma’am?”

“No, Sergeant. You will ride with me. With luck, we will be back soon.” 

Sergeant Neuhaeusser set off to prepare the horses for their journey, as well as preparing his own kit. If she had plotted this course out correctly, then there should be little need for them to bring much in the way of food on their person. The trip would only be about a seven-hour ride, which while long was definitely doable. Marianne had been on much longer marches with Dorte before, and if what she knew of Sergeant Neuhaeusser and his horse, Judd, this shouldn’t be much of a problem for them either. Slowly but surely, Marianne fitted her kit over her coat, ensuring everything fit properly and there were no loose straps that could cause an issue later on. Her pistol hung heavy on her hip, the only protection she had should Russian soldiers come across them. Given they would be almost exclusively traveling along the rear, she didn’t think this would be of grave concern. After all, Sergeant Neuhaeusser had his Karabiner 98AZ in case they had to take more direct action. Again, Marianne didn’t believe this to be necessary, and yet… perhaps better to be safe than sorry. 

There was little time to waste, and thus Marianne headed out to the stables. Sergeant Neuhaeusser had returned his _feldmütze_ to his head, wrapping a field gray cloth around his head to protect himself further from the elements. Marianne’s _bergmütze_ covered her hair just slightly, with slight locks of her blue hair falling in front of her face as she buttoned the ear flaps. Maybe she should wrap her scarf around her nose and mouth, with how cold it was today. Dorte and Judd looked ready, even with slight shivers from both of them.

“Everything’s ready and accounted for, ma’am,” Sergeant Neuhaeusser said, pulling on a knot that lashed a bedroll to Judd’s back, just behind the saddle.

“Good. Let’s be on our way then, Colonel Hannawald won’t be pleased if we delay any further.”

Sergeant Neuhaeusser helped Marianne up to her saddle – not that she particularly needed it, but his assistance was appreciated nevertheless – before saddling up himself, and together they rode into the gray landscape that dominated Poland this time of year.

Long ago, her adoptive father, the Margrave von Edmund, had visited the North Pole. She must have been about 15 when he had set off, very early into her life with him at the time. He returned from the expedition having failed in the mission to find the North Pole itself, but described the land as being one of impossibly endless stretches of ice and cold, where snow was as common as grass, and the peaks of distant ice caps formed mountains that rivaled those of Garreg Mach. Looking out among the snow-covered hills of Poland, Marianne felt much like she was now on that same expedition. The chilly air was even stronger than it had been in the trenches as they rode out to the unpaved rear lines, ambling along the frozen landscape. 

A few hours of riding had not produced much in the way of conversation between Sergeant Neuhaeusser and Marianne – she limited herself mostly just to relaying map directions, and he kept a careful eye out for potential Russian rear-line saboteurs. This deep behind the lines, though, she wasn’t sure if it was a real threat. Still, his vigilance was appreciated and never-ending.

“Oh, captain!” he said, out of the blue. The sudden sound of his voice surprised her for a moment – they were still several kilometers from their next turn. “Your birthday is in a few days, isn’t it?”

Marianne blinked, momentarily losing her focus on the map. “Uh, yes, it is. The… 23rd. Unless we’ve passed it already…” 

“I have some tea that I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Sergeant Neuhaeusser said, a broad smile crossing his face. “My wife sent it to me in the mail last week. If it’s not inappropriate, ma’am, I would like to share that tea with you. I’m sure I could find some _ersatz_ tea cookies in the rations _somewhere,_ if that would be acceptable.” 

A warm smile crossed her face, and she nodded. Suddenly, the cold and distance they had to travel sounded a little bit more bearable knowing that she had that to look forward to. “Yes, that would be lovely, Sergeant. Thank you.”

* * *

_November 22 nd, 1915_

_Somewhere east of Praga, Russia_

_1505 hours_

A day of investigation had yielded that the soldier plucked out of the Weichsel river had simply been suffering from a rather severe case of hypothermia, and the medical staff of the 372nd Battalion had managed to warm him up quickly enough to effectively reverse the condition, meaning he was now – relatively, at least – safe and sound. With the medical mystery wrapped up, packaged with a nice report written by Marianne and the battalion adjutant who helped her. Marianne and Sergeant Neuhaeusser set back towards their own camp as early as possible, eager to return to familiarity and the relative comforts of their own part of the line. Gray clouds blurred the line between the ground and the sky as they strode back home, and cold winds stung her cheeks even through the scarf.

“I’ve never seen something like that before, Captain,” Sergeant Neuhaeusser said, readjusting his carbine’s sling. He never was comfortable with where it lay while riding, doubly so if he was nervous. “Did you study conditions like this while at the Monastery?”

“Not quite,” Marianne replied. “Mostly I studied horsemanship, and practical field medicine. There were… some lessons on marksmanship when Professor Eisner taught our class, but…”

“Professor Eisner?” he asked, tilting his head. “I don’t believe you’ve mentioned him before, ma’am. Hanneman I remember, but not Eisner.”

“She, not he,” Marianne corrected. It was natural – Byleth’s name did not lead to many presuming she was a woman, but then again, when talking of people from years gone by, what did it matter? Marianne much preferred when people _did_ know Byleth, though, even if there was no purpose to it. After all, maybe Sergeant Neuhaeusser would hear it once, and forgot the conversation the next day. “Professor Eisner was… well, she was one of the best professors I had. She always knew what to say, and could adapt her tutoring sessions to suit every student she had. It was nothing short of amazing…”

“Where is she now?” Sergeant Neuhaeusser asked. “Maybe she can come visit Berlin, and I could meet her! I’d love to meet one of your professors!”

A twinge of pain struck her heart, and the smile that crossed her face as she recalled Byleth’s instructions and the tea parties she often held for Marianne faded. “I… haven’t had contact with her since the war began. I like to believe she’s in America, but…”

“Oh,” Sergeant Neuhaeusser said quietly. A brief, but noticeable, pause filled the air between them for a few more meters. “My apologies, Captain. I didn’t realize.”

“She’s not dead,” Marianne said, perhaps a touch too quickly and harshly. “I mean… I _hope_ she’s not. I don’t know for sure. Let’s just focus on getting back, and forget this conversation, Sergeant.”

He nodded, a plume of breath flowing out of his mouth as he set his eyes forward. “Yes, ma’am.”

A wave of regret flooded her, and all at once she wanted to apologize. She shouldn’t have brought Byleth up, made the Sergeant feel like a fool for not knowing something. It was her duty as an officer to lead men, not to leave them questioning whether they had offended. In the mere blink of an eye, the clouds had darkened, matching her dour mood. As if she needed _more_ complications right now.

“We need to pick up our pace,” she mentioned, encouraging Dorte to move out of amble. “This storm might already be hitting our lines.”

“Okay. We’ll make it out alright, Captain!”

Their amble quickly changed to a regular canter, picking up speed as howling wind began to assault their ears. Strange pops filled her ears not long after. There wasn’t anything she knew of that’d make that noise. Had she really even heard it, or was the stress of frontline combat and being away from her familiar post and familiar people tearing at her mind? Seconds later, though, explosions shattered the earth around them as dirt and snow was churned up, being sent sky-high as if by divine intervention. Marianne realized immediately that they were under artillery attack as ethereal little noises zipped and whistled around her, pieces of _something_ reflecting what little light there was off of it as it flew around the air. Had the Russians launched an attack on their little company? Were they using the cover of the winter storm to cover their advance? A million questions ran through her mind, the least of which was wondering whether they’d make it back to friendly lines.

Marianne and Sergeant Neuhaeusser raced through the barrage as best they could, which was soon joined by an overwhelming and all-consuming winter storm. Snow lashed at her face as bitter cold winds sliced every exposed piece of flesh, and not even her _bergmütze_ could keep her protected from the apocalyptic storm that had been set upon her. Trying to track their direction became an exercise in futility rather quickly, with the withering snow cutting down visibility to near zero. She could scarcely see Sergeant Neuhaeusser next to her, much less hear him as they shouted to one another to keep pace and go in the same direction. The shells sent shockwaves all around as they landed in what felt like the textbook implementation of bracketing artillery she had ever seen. Unfortunately, that settled it – Ingrid was in command of the Russian troops.

This knowledge did little to comfort her. Ingrid had been one of the best in her class at Garreg Mach, just barely beaten by the Tsar himself and his personal bodyguard, Dedue. If Ingrid was indeed here, then her troops were likely to be well-trained and prepared for nearly any situation, especially if that situation was attacking enemy trenches in the middle of a snowstorm. Marianne rode as hard and fast as she could, hoping that Sergeant Neuhaeusser was keeping up with her as she made a beeline for friendly lines, desperate to escape the artillery and snow. Scarcely, she found she could hear little but the peculiar sound of shrapnel dancing through the air, punctuated by screaming winds that haunted her. How long had she been riding? It was difficult to tell, and the creeping beginnings of night did not much help her in figuring out what time it was. Her watch proved useless, as she couldn’t even roll her sleeve back enough to attempt to read it. 

Somehow, just as fast as it had come on, the snowstorm dissipated. Marianne was left with a moonlit night, still harassed by the artillery fire that seemed unending. The explosions from each shell lit up the night, and the whinnies of Dorte and Judd, panicked by the onslaught they were being subjected to, tore at Marianne’s heart.

“Captain,” Sergeant Neuhaeusser called hoarsely. “Captain, the artillery’s getting closer!

“Keep riding!” she shouted back, doing her best to be heard above the noise of falling shells and explosions. It felt as if she had been chased for the past kilometer by the artillery, though given how far and fast they’d been riding, maybe they _had._ The pair crested a hill, one she had noted as being relatively nearby to their lines. Was sanctuary in sight? She could only guess as the moon enshrouded the land in a blue hue, the snow making each crest and fold in the hills as bright as the middle of the day.

And, just like that, the artillery stopped. Marianne could hear the telltale sound of rifle fire in the distance, marked with the clatter of the company’s singular machine gun. They were under attack, surely. As she reached the top of the hill, she saw clearly the smoke pyres rising up from where she knew her own trenches to be. It must have been just beyond the horizon. Or, maybe more likely, she was deluding herself and she had gotten lost, and this was a different company entirely that suffered an attack.

“C-captain…” Sergeant Neuhaeusser said, causing her to look over. They had paused as she took the time to observe the situation, which now led her to stare at his leg. Blood ran down his trousers, staining the slate gray uniform and leaving a trail of crimson vitae on the stark white snow. “I… I don’t feel so well.”

Marianne froze for a split second, refusing to recognize the reality in front of her. He was not mortally wounded, that much she could tell, but the gaunt look in his eyes was a sign that something was very wrong indeed. Without thinking, she dismounted Dorte and rushed over to the Sergeant, taking a much closer look at his leg. By now, he had begun to slump over on Judd, his eyelids drooping as she began to examine. There was a lot of blood, but most of it wasn’t from the wound. An abscess had formed under his skin, revealing shrapnel from a wound that was God-knows how many months old. The shock of another piece of shrapnel must have broken it open, and now… there must have been an infection, or something similar. It was the only explanation.

“Sergeant, this wound…”

“It’s the end of me, I think,” he answered, in far too matter-of-fact a manner for her liking. The panic in her face must have been palpable, given how he tried to smile despite the pain. “Ah, it’s okay, ma’am. We enlisted men know death comes for us.”

“I won’t let you die here,” Marianne asserted, trying to figure out a way to pack this wound with her field dressing. The more she looked at it, the less she thought it could possibly help. This wasn’t just a simple shrapnel wound. This required medicine she simply didn’t have out here, in between positions, hopelessly lost and alone with no way to bring anyone to him. Without him leading Judd, he could bring him back but nothing more, and she did not relish the idea of him potentially falling off on the way back. If the Russians attacked in force, or there was an element flanking that could catch them unawares… her pistol would do little to stave off a dedicated Russian squad, and Marianne was not particularly confident in her marksmanship.

Sergeant Neuhaeusser groaned, straining against the saddle. “Ma’am, it’s okay. If you could… I’d like to dismount.” 

A knot formed in her stomach, and she gingerly helped Sergeant Neuhaeusser off Judd as best she could. He shouted when his wounded leg hit the snow, of course, but nevertheless he was able to mostly stand. Riding, by his own admission, was entirely out of the question, and now that Marianne had seen his hands, digits blistered and discolored as he pulled off his thin gloves.

“Didn’t I order you not to wear these things?” Marianne asked, sadness filling her voice. “Maybe if you…”

“It was my own choice, Captain,” he said, shivering as he slowly sat down in the snow. “I… I needed the flexibility if the Russians came.”

Marianne swallowed bitterly. Of course, Sergeant Neuhaeusser always was vigilant. “Sergeant, if I can make it back to our lines, I’ll… I’ll get a team back here, and we can-”

“Ma’am, as much as you give orders,” Sergeant Neuhaeusser said, casting his eyes upward, “I think I have to order _you_ to go without me.”

Tears began to roll down her face, hot only for a mere second before the cold air chilled them. Surely he was joking. Surely this was just an absurd request. After all, he was a sergeant and she was a captain, she didn’t have to listen to him.

“Please, ma’am,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Take Judd and go back. There’s no sense in both of us dying to frostbite out here.”

“I’ll come back for you, Lucas,” Marianne said quietly, trying to keep her tears contained but failing miserably. “You won’t be left behind.”

Lucas nodded, looking peaceful. “Thank you, ma’am. Promise me you’ll let Charlotte know?”

“I will tell her everything.”

Marianne could not keep her emotions contained. She cried the entire way back to the trenches, leading Judd as best she could in a mad dash to reach home before the sergeant – no, her _friend_ – perished. Even with his infection, they could save him. They had saved the man who had been stuck in the Weichsel, after all, so why couldn’t they do the same for him? Marianne reached their trenches at near midnight, well after the Russians had pulled back. She knew not the casualties, and didn’t care. Her report to Colonel Hannawald was lost among her things, thrown into the medical administrative bunker without a second thought as she demanded – no, _screamed_ for – soldiers to ride out with her to recover Lucas. Her tears had frozen on her face by now, thin sheets of ice that snapped off as she ran back to Lucas’s position. 

Alas, she was too late. The men dismounted as fast as they could, but his body was stiff from the cold. He did not blink, did not breathe, did not even so much as move his eyes. She tried everything she knew of back at camp to revive him, warmed him the same way the men of the 372nd Battalion had, but at the end of her efforts, Sergeant Lucas Neuhaeusser was still as stiff and cold as he had been out in the fields of Poland. Marianne could deny it no longer – her aide, her friend, Lucas, had died.

The next day, she made plans to leave for Berlin, packing away the tea he had been saving for her birthday. She found it tasted of cinnamon and lavender, with subtle hints of fruit. How he had ever known she enjoyed this sort of tea, or if fate led him to select it to share with her, Marianne would never know. Perhaps it was divine intervention. Perhaps it was compensation for losing her friend. Perhaps it was all coincidence. Marianne wasn’t sure. Either way, her final report, modified to reflect the casualty along the way, indicated Sergeant Lucas Neuhaeusser had bravely led her through a Russian artillery attack. When she finally met Charlotte, she made sure to mention his bravery, and indicate he had correctly diagnosed the medical mystery surrounding the man from the 372nd Battalion. 

He deserved the recognition far more than she did.


End file.
